Home Again. Joan Elliott Pickart
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“I don’t believe it is,” he said. “How is Joey going to relax around me if he senses tension between you and me? How will he come to trust me if he feels that you don’t? Think about it.”
“I…”
“You have my address on that form I filled out. Joey and I will be waiting for your arrival Friday night. We’ll all cook dinner together, just like a family. Right? Right.” Mark nodded. “See ya.”
Mark strode from the room. Cedar sank into one of the chairs in front of her desk when she realized her trembling legs were not going to support her for one second longer.
This was not going well, she thought, pressing her hands to her flushed cheeks. Mark had made a legitimate point. Joey would be aware of any tension between her and Mark and might very well hold back because of it.
She had to somehow gain control of her raging emotions before Friday night. She was a professional. She’d taken part in in-home therapy a multitude of times and found it to be very effective and informative. She would concentrate on Joey and the chicken, and view Mark as the client that he was. Not a man…a client.
She could do that.
Couldn’t she?
Chapter Three
On Friday evening before Cedar arrived, Mark stood in the middle of his living room and nodded in approval. He had made a fire in the hearth that was now crackling with leaping flames. The cleaning lady, who came three times a week, had done her usual expert job.
Mark had built the large house in Fountain Valley, an affluent area at the north edge of Phoenix. The split floor plan featured a master bedroom on one side of the house and three more bedrooms on the opposite side. There were also a sunken living room with a flagstone fireplace, a formal dining room, a big kitchen with an eating area, and a library with built-in shelves.
The backyard boasted a swimming pool, plus a separate Jacuzzi beyond a good-size covered patio.
Mark had hired a decorator who had chosen large, comfortable furniture in tones of gray and light-to-dark burgundy. The overall effect was one of simple elegance.
He had known when he designed and built the house that it was much too big for a single man, but he’d had hopes of having a wife and children someday and wanted to be prepared. He’d also intended to establish a sizable investment portfolio that would provide not only for his retirement, but for college educations for his children. He wanted available funds for any emergencies that might arise.
One had.
Until Joey’s arrival, the three spare bedrooms had been empty. Together, they had shopped for Joey’s furniture, which had proven to be a study in frustration, as Joey offered no opinions and answered most questions with his ever-familiar shrug.
Wanting Joey to have his own possessions with him, Mark had his nephew’s clothes, toys, and books shipped from New York. He had even purchased a Game Boy as a gift for Joey, but had yet to see the little boy play with it.
Cedar would see that Joey had a nice home.
Joey’s new bedroom was large and had its own bathroom. It contained a double bed, dresser, desk, and bookshelves to hold his belongings. Everything that a little boy could possibly want was available under this roof.
Yeah, right, Mark thought, shaking his head. It all sounded great except for the fact that Joey was a very unhappy kid. The easy way out would be to blame Joey’s emotional state entirely on the loss of his parents. That might very well be true, but Cedar would need to make that determination.
“No, part of it is me,” Mark said, frowning.
He was doing a lousy job of being a father, no doubt about it. He should be able to get Joey to smile, for Pete’s sake, to talk to him, to spend just one evening with his Uncle Mark.
Hell, what did he know about being a dad? Not a damn thing. He sure hadn’t had any kind of role model. Not even close. Should he tell Cedar that? Explain his own childhood to her so she could understand why he was doing such a crummy job of—no. He wasn’t about to pour out his heart and soul to a woman he hardly knew. No way.
The doorbell rang, jerking Mark from his rambling thoughts. As he started across the room, Joey came running down the hall and entered the living room.
“Cedar’s here,” Joey said, zooming to the door. He flung it open just as Mark reached him.
“Hi, Cedar,” Joey said. “Did you bring the chicken and stuff?”
“I certainly did,” Cedar said, smiling. “Are you ready to be a chef?”
“Yeah,” Joey said. “Cool.”
“Joey,” Mark said, “why don’t you invite Cedar in?”
“Huh?” Joey said. “Oh. You wanna come in now?”
Cedar laughed. “Yes, thank you.” She stepped into the living room and swept her gaze over the large expanse. “What a lovely home,” she said. “Oh, and a fire in the hearth. Perfect.” She looked at Joey again. “Would you take one of these grocery sacks, please?”
“Sure,” Joey said, slamming the door closed, then accepting one of the bags.
Cedar hadn’t acknowledged his presence or even glanced in his direction, Mark thought. So, okay, she was here in her role as Joey’s psychologist, but still—
Man, listen to him. He was reacting like a bratty little kid who was jealous because the new baby was getting all the attention. But, cripe, the woman could at least say hello.
“Hello, Cedar,” he said.
Cedar slowly, very slowly, shifted her gaze to meet Mark’s.
“Hello, Mark,” she said.
“Let me take that other sack,” he said, reaching toward it.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Cedar said.
“I insist,” he said, then grasped the bag, the back of his right hand brushing her breast lightly. “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t mean to…sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” Cedar said. “On to the kitchen, gentlemen.”
Providing that her legs would carry her that far, she thought frantically, which was doubtful because her bones were dissolving from the incredible heat that was consuming her. That one-second flicker of Mark’s hand on her breast was wreaking total havoc on her body.
There was a flush on her cheeks, too, she just knew there was, darn it. This evening was not starting out well at all.
“Are you coming?” Joey said from across the room.
“What?” Cedar said. “Oh, yes, of course. Lead the way, sir.”
In the kitchen, Cedar offered the appropriate compliments on the state-of-the-art appliances and the generous size of the room, finally deciding that she was babbling like an idiot.
“Okay,” she said, then drew a steadying breath. “First thing we do is wash our hands.”
As they all turned toward the double sink, Cedar was acutely aware that Mark was behind her…very, very close behind her.
“I’ll go first and get out of the way,” she said quickly.
Oh, Cedar, she admonished herself, as she dried her hands on a towel. Would you please get it together before you make a complete fool of yourself?
She reached into one of the sacks now sitting on the counter and removed a bright blue square of material.
“This is your chef’s apron, Joey,” she said. “All famous chefs wear aprons, you know.” She shook it out to reveal the bright orange Garfield the Cat on the front. “How’s this?”
“Cool,” Joey said.
Cedar